


Red Echoes

by GoblinCatKC



Series: The Red Room [1]
Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Dark, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Prostitution, Sexual Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 23:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16607825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoblinCatKC/pseuds/GoblinCatKC
Summary: Leonardo and Michelangelo have escaped from a kidnapping, but whereas Michelangelo has shrugged off the experience, the wounds linger in Leonardo's memory, echoing so that he can't forget the voices.





	Red Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> A very self-indulgent fic that I couldn't imagine except in the Rise universe. Also written to be psychologically dark.

_the lights were blinding, blinding, so white that they burned even when the humans covered his face_

With his eyes shut tight, Leonardo sat on the floor of a darkened room. The vast cisterns beneath the city provided his family with a sizable home, but his own place in it was tiny, a niche carved out of the pipes and stone walls. Away from the explosions of Donatello's laboratory and the clank of Raphael's weight room, he lay close only to his little brother and the occasional cough of spray paint coloring the walls.

_red velvet walls, plush carpet, gold trim_

His spartan mattress lay directly on the ground, haphazardly covered by a mound of thin blankets. A crooked nightstand with its top drawer missing held the handful of comic books that Michelangelo hadn't stolen yet, two baseball caps and a bunch of old wrestling figures he'd salvaged from the thrift store dumpster. Across from him, a poster of a martial arts movie star and his inspirational quote, to "be water, my--." The corner had been torn off when he'd found it.

The bare bulb above him was out, having popped and sizzled when they'd brought him home, and he hadn't bothered to change it since then.

Two days ago, Donatello had--after being nudged by Raphael--offered to change it for him. Leonardo had quietly said no. And then, later that night, smashed the light switch.

_glass smashed and the broken wine bottle dripped red_

His door opened. Raphael stood, a dark silhouette with red highlights, filling the doorway.

_the mutant guarding the door was as big as an ox with the horns to match_

"Dinner's almost ready," Raphael said, waiting a moment and not expecting an answer. "I ain't bringing it up. You're gonna have to crawl out of here sometime."

_"Crawl! Crawl! Make him--"_

Leonardo winced and turned his shoulder. He shook his head once.

"Darn it, Leo, will you freakin' talk to me?" A week of frustration welled up in Raphael's voice. "How'm I s'posed to do anything if you won't talk to me? Since when don't you talk?"

_"oh, it's no fun when you won't talk back"_

And Raphael wouldn't leave, setting his arms stubbornly.

Feeling like a raw wound exposed to burning heat, Leonardo came back into the light. By now, half the meal was gone, the communal dishes assaulted by growing teenagers and a ravenous rat. Normally in the carnage he could scrounge pieces here and there, slip between his brothers' outstretched hands and steal from unguarded plates.

Michelangelo leaped across the table to tackle Donatello to the floor, then leaped up and made a grab at the hamburgers in the middle. During the explosions of small munitions as Donatello fired back, Raphael swiped the hamburgers for himself and made a second incursion on the salad of dandelions, pigeon eggs and nettle leaves.

"Now I know you aren't thinking of finishing that," Donatello said, one hand flattening over the salad bowl. "'Cause the person who made it hasn't even had any yet."

"Now now," Raphael said in mock sincerity, "don't be all hatin' when I gotta eat enough for two of you."

"Oh, that means war!" Donatello said as he leaped.

_wine glasses and silverware clinking and he was the meal, and his throat felt like slime and rotten meat_

Leonardo winced. He could have taken the moment to steal both of their meals, but he didn't think he could force anything into his stomach without seeing it again.

Beside him, Splinter poured out a glass of water for him. Ice rattled amidst small air bubbles in a clear surface. Cold and clean...he drank it so fast that it hurt and accepted the second pour. Over the rim, he regarded his father.

Splinter looked back with far too much insight.

"It is said," Splinter started, ignoring the fighting, "that no man may live under the same sky as his enemy."

"You got that right!" Raphael said, tumbling under Donatello across the floor.

Leonardo put his water down slowly. He glanced from his father to his brothers.

"A ninja may count on their clan for help," Splinter said. "Do not forget that you are not alone."

But that only made Leonardo close in on himself further. Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo—they could all play and wrestle as if nothing had happened. While Leonardo felt like every movement tied him further into knots.

* * *

When they'd first brought Leonardo back to the cell, Michelangelo hadn't known what to make of him.

Michelangelo had woken up from the sedative much later, and he hadn't seen anyone but the huge ox guard and the snake man, mutant servants in a wealthy condominium. The room they were kept in was bare except for a dog dish that Michelangelo refused to even look at. There were two doors--one inner door made of solid steel bars and a heavy lock, and the outer door with white paint and scrollwork and a gold knob. This side of the door, however, was covered in scratches.

Whenever they brought Leonardo back, Michelangelo caught the barest glimpse of plush oriental rugs on top of thick carpets, fancy wallpaper and chandeliers, long mirrors--and then the cell door slammed shut again and the white door closed with a soft click.

His brother didn't move for a long time. Michelangelo talked to him and asked questions, but Leonardo barely glanced at him before closing his eyes again, lying still wherever they'd dropped him. Bruises covered his skin, small scratches here and there, but Leonardo didn't look like he'd been hurt all that badly. They did worse to each other in the dojo, although when he said as much, Leonardo's mouth had curled in a cynical parody of a smile.

"I'm not letting them take you again," Michelangelo had said, putting all of his determination into his voice. "You need to rest. I don't know what's going on, but--"

Ice had spread through Leonardo, and all his pain had suddenly ebbed away, dulled by panic.

Michelangelo didn't so much see his brother move as he instead saw Leonardo's fist just before it cracked across his face. Michelangelo landed on his shell, hand across his nose, staring at his brother with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to say something and only a squeak came out.

Leonardo breathed hard as if he had run a mile, and he slowly brought his fist against his plastron, holding it as if it hurt. His gaze slipped to the floor, away from his little brother.

The same cynical smile came back, accompanied by a weak laugh.

"Sorry. Heh. Slipped..."

Stepping back against the wall, he let himself slide down, gently easing onto the floor. Resting his head so that he watched the light fixture, he let out a shuddering sigh.

"S'okay. Didn't wanna sleep anyway."

Unmoving, Michelangelo watched him for a long moment.  _No, you gotta sleep,_ he wanted to say.  _You gotta rest. You can't just..._

Leonardo didn't sleep for long hours, glancing now and then to make sure that Michelangelo...

Michelangelo hadn't been sure why his brother kept looking at him. What did he think he was going to do, knock Leonardo out? Leap frog over him? When the knob began to turn, Leonardo surprised him by rising almost instantly, swaying on his feet and glaring when Michelangelo started to rise.

Nothing gentle about that look. Michelangelo had sunk back down into the corner, deathly still as Leonardo was taken out of the cell once again.

He'd cried as he waited the long hours before Leonardo was thrown back. This time blood flecked his lips and he barely rasped a word from his raw throat before passing out.

Quietly, slowly, Michelangelo had crept close and gathered his brother into his lap, holding him as he slept until the cycle repeated.

Once, when Leonardo was still sleeping, the ox guard went for Michelangelo who hadn't recognized the expression on the mutant's face. Pitiless, intent, simply doing a job that it found repugnant. Michelangelo had been about to take his brother's place when Leonardo caught him by surprise with an elbow in the side, knocking the wind out of him so that he staggered back. Leonardo had said something to the guard, a whisper pitched low so that his brother wouldn't hear...and the ox had grabbed his wrist and yanked him out again.

When they brought him back, smelling of alcohol and something that Michelangelo didn't recognize, Leonardo had ducked his head, refusing to speak. He dropped a stolen tie pin into Michelangelo's hand, then curled on his side and stared at the wall.

Escape had come soon after, an anticlimactic affair of picked locks and the confusing maze of condominium floors that led to unfamiliar alleys, Michelangelo leading the way and Leonardo limping silently behind. Neither had spoken.

* * *

_"Oh, look at him twist around like that, the boy's a natural--"_

_"If only you could sell that kind of flexibility--"_

_"Why sell the talent when you can steal it for free?"_

It was a stupid idea. Completely self-defeating. He'd hated every moment of the ordeal, keeping sane only by remembering his little brother safely in the cell, safely out of the red room. It made no sense to immediately jump back into the fire.

Even more stupid, he hadn't told anyone where he was. But then how could he tell them something so shameful?

So Leonardo was alone, in busy alleys outside portals to the mutant city, lingering on the border between the underground and the human. At night, the walls lit up with green flames and blue neon, revealing horns and wings and fur and scales as mutants roamed in and out of both worlds, passing him by with the occasional look.

They all guessed at his purpose--a handful of other young mutants leaned against the brick wall, long legged, posed gracefully with eyes demurely lowered. Buyers didn't like to see a challenge in their eyes. He discovered that the classier restaurants would chase "loiterers" from their doors, but further out on the edges of this world, where the street vendors sold cheap noodles under red lights, he could position himself under the brightest streetlamp.

_"turn up the lights, won't you, I want to see his face when he realizes he can't go anywhere"_

It was a choice spot, a slow sidewalk where drivers could pull up and exchange a few words, and business was good. A good spot in a place without rules. He left two other teens with bloodied noses and broken bones before the rest of them accepted that the lamp was his. The look of blood and bruises on his knuckles combined with his shy submissiveness made him all the sweeter to the clients.

At first he didn't speak out of nervousness, the awkwardness of sitting in the passenger seat, allowing the hand to fall possessively over his thigh. When he realized they didn't want to talk with him, just at him, made lying there even easier.

He grew numb to what he was doing. It was escaping the lair that was hard.

_"where do you think you're going, little one?"_

"Where you going?" Raphael demanded, standing in the way of the lair door. "You know we don't go out alone."

Leonardo put on a grin, shrugging at being caught. "Raphy, come on, you know the comic shop gets new issues today! I just wanted to beat the rush, get the most mint copies before they go on the racks."

"Uh-huh." Raphael crossed his arms. "You ain't even got your sword, Leo, and you carry that thing everywhere."

Leonardo huffed, drooping his shoulders and pretending he didn't feel cold chills crisscrossing his shell.

"Man, you know I can barely make that thing work. I figure, it and me just need some space. Kinda couples counseling, you know?"

Raphael raised an eyebrow.

"You know?" Leonardo tried. "'Cause it makes space...we need space..."

Still no reaction. Leonardo heaved a long sigh, stuck his tongue out and retreated back to his room. As he went to close his door, though, it stopped, Raphael's hand catching it before it could slam shut.

"Yo, Leo..." Raphael started, hesitating as he tried to figure out what to say.

In the silence, the sound of the water flowing through the pipes echoed through the lair. It sounded like the rain in the cisterns as he and Michelangelo crept up through the tunnels, coming up at their usual spot. And the sting of tranquilizer darts as they tumbled into the stormwater, blacking out in the cold.

"No." Leonardo glared over his shoulder. "Just...no."

"Dude, you won't say anything about it!" Raphael rubbed the growing headache at his temples. "And Mikey don't know what happened 'cause you made sure only you got taken to whatever you got taken to. So how'm I supposed to help you with...with whatever the heck happened?"

_the mutant guarding the door was as big as an ox and the horns to match_

Raphael blocked out the light from the lair, and he reached over to flick on the lights only to discover that they'd been smashed. Raphael looked at Leonardo, impotently huffing, and his fists opened and closed reflexively.

"Come on..." Raphael sighed. "Please?"

Leonardo's gaze slipped back to the floor.

"...not now."

"Then wh--?"

"Not now." Leonardo wouldn't look at him. "Not yet."

Raphael hesitated between pushing and letting go.

"But eventually?"

"Sure." Leonardo smiled ruefully. "Eventually. Close the door, huh? Guess I'ma go to bed now."

Raphael reluctantly backed away, closing the door and leaving Leonardo in darkness. The larger turtle stood there listening, waiting to see if he heard anything suspicious or if Leonardo would try to sneak out again. When nothing happened, Raphael finally gave in and went to the living room to keep watch, falling asleep on the couch.

In his room, Leonardo listening to his brother's snores. Convenient as it was, Raphael's dismissal hurt. Here Leonardo had a sword that could open up portals, and yet his brother didn't think he could control it well enough to leave. And Leonardo knew that he hadn't done anything to prove Raphael wrong about that.

He picked up the sword without any confidence that it would work. And was it maybe better if it didn't? Another night of waiting, of selling himself, of gaining the notice of the right clientele... He wanted nothing so much as to simply fall asleep for days.

_"of course you like my bed, you can see the whole city...lift your hips so you get a better view"_

How could he explain that he was doing this because he couldn't tell where the damn building was? To a creature that lived underground, New York was a nightmarish jumble of neon and odd angles. The only thing he remembered was the red room, and even that blurred in a haze soaked in alcohol and pain. He could have asked Michelangelo, but that--

No. He shook his head. He wouldn't ask.

The sword opened a portal to the red light district. He stared dumbly at the sidewalk and streetlamp, startled at the sight. Not the red room, not the cell. The streetlamp.

He laughed once, helplessly. Then dropped the sword and stepped across, letting it close behind him. He'd find a way home later.

Nights passed slowly. Clients blurred together, all different and all very much the same. Human, mutant, lizard, mammal...their hands felt the same on his throat, on his thighs. Some left bruises, some barely touched him at all. Some stammered awkwardly and some paid for him twice, three times. No one ever haggled prices. A few touched before they bought. None tried to make conversation. For being a popular commodity, he spent most of each night alone.

Sitting on the windowsill of a cheap motel room rented by the hour, he watched cars go by, watched the ramen vendor pack up his cart and move on. The door closed behind him and he was left alone in an empty room, dollar bills and coins dropped on the bedspread like an afterthought.

The plan didn't call for accepting their money. He did anyway, learning to raise his prices, to raise his value to wealthier patrons, to judge the lonely clients and the dangerous ones.

Until the most dangerous one rode up in a short black limousine, lowering the rear window as the chauffeur idled at the corner. A familiar voice slid out as smoothly as a serpent.

"Well, well...I had to steal it last time. Can I try before I buy?"

Black eyes laughing at him over a dead smile. An immaculate gray suit, one hand hovering over the jacket pocket, likely holding a small firearm. The man's features were almost completely unknown to him. Leonardo had only seen him through alcohol and beatings, but the voice had sinuously wrapped around him until he heard it in the empty moments of the day.

"No buying," Leonardo said, smoothly delivering the phrase he'd rehearsed. "Just renting."

That brought a real if cynical smile.

"Ah, it learns quickly."

The door clicked open, revealing another bench seat facing backward.

"Show me what you remember."

As if on autopilot, Leonardo silently entered and sat down in front of him, watching his hands.

_digging into his skin, leaving bruises deep in the muscle, a dozen hands held him down and laughed_

The same hands clutched his shoulders, delighting in the flesh painfully yielding, the muffled wince as Leonardo breathed deep of human scent and designer fabric. His throat again felt like it was made of slime and rotten meat.

"I missed you. Nothing since has tasted so fine."

"I'm expensive now." Leonardo didn't know how he kept the tremor out of his voice. He sounded like an old pro.

"Of course you are--you were painstakingly trained. A treat at any price."

The ride was short--no cheap motel but a high rise with its own doorman and a private glass elevator. Ordered out first, he walked ahead, knowing his body was being studied. Smaller than his brothers, smaller than this human, he walked slowly, no sudden moves, feeling the man's hidden firearm, the eyes of the ox guard, the snake man.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he told himself over and over. He was in over his head with no sword and no help. And still he went, one foot after the after, walking into the trap.

In the elevator, he was ordered to bend over and grasp the railing, staring out over the city as hands ran over his ass, grasping the crease of his hips as a cock strained in its pants, grinding against him in promise.

_I didn't have to strip him--he was walking around like that, barely a stitch on, the little slut_

Leonardo still wasn't wearing clothing, and he felt the lack as they left the elevator. His bare feet sank into the carpet, mirrors reflected his bare skin with its exotic patterns, and he passed paintings of men and women as undressed as himself, a mere belt or scrap of fabric caught in the act of falling around them.

They passed by the white door--

_he didn't scream for fear that Michelangelo might panic and fight and be brought with him so he had to obey_

\--and came to the red room.

A four poster bed with crimson sheets. Burgundy carpet. Gold and red curtains. Velvet walls. Wine bottles on the mahogany nightstand. A darkly red sofa that he was bent over and spread upon, his arms pinned to his sides as the man's weight fell on top of him. As he was entered, his low moan of pain faded as his face was forced down into the heavy cushions, bringing the taste of expensive, dry fabric on his tongue.

There was a familiar pattern to the man's movements--Leonardo was thrown to the floor and pinioned there, mounted again as fierce blows came down sporadically. He looked up, blinded by the chandelier--a fist to his temple sent his gaze back properly to the floor. He groaned, backhanded across the face even as he was impaled in one powerful thrust as punishment.

It hurt all the worse because he allowed it. Over and over, he repeated to himself in time with each thrust, he was allowing this. This was his decision. He'd chosen this path. Keep his wits, he had to keep his wits. The man had forgotten his firearm in Leonardo's eager submission. Leonardo told himself that he had a chance, a real chance to win this.

One man, instead of a crowd.

One fist, instead of dozens.

The scent of wine washed over him. An open bottle came down on the carpet by his head, precariously balanced, leaning closer and closer to falling over.

_"Doesn't he look just marvelous soaked like that, pour it down his throat."_

"Why buy when it walks right in the front door begging for it?"

_A long train of private guests had been invited. Leonardo thought he felt every hand on him again, tasted wine spilled over his mouth and throat as if consecrating him to public use, and the bottle was in his hand--_

"I never imagined you'd come back for another taste—drink up..."

_"Drink it up, little one, drink it up" and wine sloshed across his mouth, bitter and sweet, and the wine bottle was in his hand--_

The wine bottle slammed against the human's head before Leonardo realized what he'd done. The human cried out even as he fell sideways, curling up to protect his head, legs tangled in his clothes, wide open for another attack.

It took a second strike to crack the thick glass, and a third strike to silence the human's yelling. A fourth strike broke the glass so that he was left with a handful of upraised shards, perfect for handling the ox as the huge mutant crashed through the door.

Leonardo's first swipe missed as the solid horns caught him and flung him toward the wall. With the practice of being thrown around by an angry brother, he turned and got his feet under him, springing off the red velvet and startling the ox backward. Grabbing onto one of the horns, Leonardo braced himself against its body and drove the broken bottle into the soft throat.

As blood soaked into the carpet, a hiss paused at the door. The ox fell to the ground and Leonardo landed in a crouch beside it, his only weapon lost in the ox's neck. His gaze met the snake servant, who hesitated long enough that Leonardo reached behind himself and gathered up the gold curtain cords, winding them around one hand. He didn't break his gaze, and after a moment, the servant vanished down the hall.

_the gold rope went around his throat, then pulled taut, and the world grew darker and darker as the laughter closed in_

Strangling someone whose head has been almost split open by several hits of a glass bottle was almost a formality. Like doing a chore or completing a routine task, he simply checked off the job on the to-do list in his mind.

Stepping over the body, he found that the red room had a shower attached. Red clay tile, red mats...he wondered if he'd been in there before. Even the water had red lights in the showerhead. It was the most luxurious thing he'd ever seen, immaculately clean, with plush red towels that hid the blood.

He froze as he saw the other wall, floor to ceiling mirrors that showed him a stranger.

No. He shut his eyes. He didn't have to think about it anymore. He wouldn't think about it anymore. Refusing to look, he washed off the blood and the smell and the scrubbed so fiercely that his skin bled. It didn't take long. It was done. He'd go home, go to sleep in his own bed, and he'd wake up in a world that didn't have—

Raphael knelt over the corpse, examining the broken skull, the curtain cord pulled so tight that it vanished into the body's neck. Then he looked up and found Leonardo walking out of the bathroom, towel still in hand, startled into silence.

For Leonardo, the world suddenly went silent save for a single high pitched hum. Raphael's mouth moved but made no sound, and as his brother stood, looming over him Leonardo was vaguely aware of the shapes and colors of the city's jagged edges flying past him, as if the world was still spinning and he'd been left behind.

* * *

"—you knew? How? How the hell could you know and not do anything? Not say anything?"

Leonardo blinked. The world slowed down and came to rest in the dojo, and he was kneeling on the mat, hands on his knees, as if they were about to learn another kata. The lights were off, leaving the candles glimmering in the corners. The flickering glow was soothing, and the heat curled around him, warm instead of the cold night wind.

He looked up. Raphael knelt beside him, whispering fiercely, and Leonardo followed his look to—

His throat closed.

Splinter sat in front of them, listening to everything Raphael said without any change in expression.

"He was out there alone," Raphael continued. "Anything could'a happened! What if he'd run into someone he couldn't handle? What if he went off with a super strong mutant or... And then that rich human—I was lucky to find him at all—do you know how many mutants I had to ask before I even found out what a red light district is, and then I find out he's been working there like a—"

"Your voice," Splinter warned as he grew louder.

Raphael growled, glancing at the far door. They were still alone, but he lowered his voice back to a whisper.

"He could've been hurt," Raphael muttered.

Splinter breathed in, held it, then released very slowly. All traces of buffoonery were gone, leaving exhaustion and patience. It was long past the time he usually fell asleep on the couch.

"He has already been hurt," Splinter said.

Raphael glanced at Leonardo as if his brother had suddenly erupted in cuts, glaring at Splinter when he saw nothing.

"The injury is no less painful for being invisible," Splinter said. "He experienced a depth of cruelty that few ever discover."

Raphael's mouth twisted. "Then why didn't you tell us—"

"Because your brother had chosen not to." Splinter shook his head. "By protecting Michelangelo, he had already chosen his path."

"This ain't something he can put a bandaid on himself," Raphael insisted.

"Have you asked him?"

About to argue, Raphael noticed now that Leonardo was lucid again, staring at the floor. The bit of cloth in his hands—a piece of the towel—tightened in his fingers. Leonardo grimaced and pushed it off his lap, but that left him with nothing to do with his hands. He awkwardly pressed them against his mouth, quelling his nausea.

"Leo?"

Leonardo squeezed his eyes shut. No, he didn't want to hear his brother's voice lowered softly, murmuring to him like he was a child. A weakling.

His reply was so taut that Raphael couldn't hear him the first time.

"I said don't." Leonardo ground it out between clenched teeth. "Don't sound like that."

"I...what?" Raphael leaned closer, one hand up as if to touch his shoulder. "Sound like—?"

"Don't pity me!"

Leonardo shot to his feet, swaying with the effort and the sudden rush to his head. As Raphael stepped closer in concern, Leonardo backed away, wishing he'd kept the bottle. He hadn't felt so vulnerable until this moment.

"I kept Mikey safe, I kept them from even looking at him." Leonardo coughed, putting his hand out for the wall and missing twice, almost losing his balance. He smacked away Raphael's outstretched hand. "I kept all of you from knowing...I didn't want you to..."

As his bother's voice dwindled, Raphael glanced at Splinter, hoping for guidance. Instead Splinter was gone, having deemed himself no longer necessary to this. At a loss, Raphael looked back at his brother.

"Why?" Raphael asked. "You...you would've helped any of us, if things were different."

"If things were different," Leonardo snapped, "then it wouldn't of happened at all! You would've barreled your way out of there—Donnie would've had the whole place rigged to explode...Mikey would've..."

"Mikey would've fought back," Raphael said. "'Cause he wouldn't have tried to protect you."

Leonardo began to fold in on himself, shoulders hunched, trembling.

"And he would'a got himself sedated again, and then neither of you would've gotten out." Raphael frowned, looking at the door as if he could see their sleeping siblings. "I saw that cell. Donny would've had nothing to work with. And me...I'da been too slowed down by that cow dude to get anyone out."

Barely hearing him, Leonardo drew in a shuddering breath, pressing his fists to his mouth so hard that he knew they'd bruise. So what? He was already covered in bruises that told exactly what had happened that night.

"I can't do anything," Leonardo mumbled.

"You found the only way out," Raphael said, imagining the abuse that had put the first set of bruises on his brother, the presence of mind he must have had in order to steal a pin. "And you kept Mikey safe."

Leonardo was past hearing. Raphael sighed, not knowing if he'd done something wrong by finding his brother and bringing this to surface, wondering if he should have let it go. But he thought that if he hadn't caught his brother in the midst of his revenge, then this would have festered and rotted until it boiled over and hurt him worse. At least, this way, the wound was lanced and the corruption laid bare, and he thought Leonardo might start to let the pain drain away.

"Please don't tell them..."

Raphael briefly closed his eyes.

"How about...I say that you killed him and that's it?" Raphael said. "It's true. And the rest don't matter. You did what you had to do. I'm not happy about it, but...I guess I just wish you hadn't felt like you had to do it alone."

Nodding once, Leonardo wiped at his eyes. Worse than everything else that night was showing this weakness to his big, powerful brother. The shame and humiliation of it was only made a little easier as he was drawn close, held in Raphael's arms, quiet murmurs and the rubbing of a massive hand on his shell.

_The room was entirely red, and the crowd of humans stared at him in silent anticipation. In the moment before they moved in like lions for the kill, he could think through the fear just enough to be satisfied that it was only himself, no one else._

 "You did good, bro'."

Leonardo briefly opened his eyes, spotting the flash of his brother's bandana. His eyes drooped and he leaned more heavily against his brother. It was too soon to even think of forgetting, but for now, just for now, he listened to Raphael's heartbeat and let himself imagine that he might believe him some day.

 


End file.
